Intrigue
by Le Chat Noir
Summary: Can be considered missing scenes from 'Ivresse'. PG13 wavering towards R. Curufin is displeased that Orodreth won't yield to his sweet words, and tries to bend him by other means. Features also Celebrimbor in the lat chapter.
1. Part one

Warnings:        - Slash, though no love involved.

                        - Disturbing Psychopathy

                        - Heavy Cynicism/Sarcasm/Irony

I know Curufin and Orodreth make a weird couple. I hold that this story is not a romance whatsoever. Well, that was kind of obvious. Knowing Curufin…

I never understood a lot about nobility titles in Tolkien's world. Apparently, Gwindor was considered a _prince of Nargothrond. That always left me kind of perplexed, but, I thought I'd just stick along._

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, nor of the settings. They all belong to the Professor Tolkien, though I think he would be happy to discharge the contents on me…

Intrigue

By Le Chat Noir

Chapter one

Orodreth was displeased. 

Most highly displeased. 

He did not usually have much time away from the paperwork and all the official stuff that generally comes with ruling a kingdom. Today, he had looked forwards to a nice little stroll in the City, and had originally planned to visit some old friends of his in the most common and unpolitical of manners. 

Someone, apparently, had decided otherwise for him. 

The Lord Guilin had always been a good friend. Gelmir and Gwindor, his sons, were about Orodreth's age, and had been his playmates since early childhood. Though they were separated for some centuries when Orodreth was left in Tol Sirion while the two young princes followed their father to Nargothrond's safer shelter, there had been some visits on both sides, and their friendship lasted. However, their late reunion had been embittered by Gelmir's loss in the Bragollach, and Orodreth's defeat at Minas Tirith, and often Finrod's nephew could not bring himself to look into the grieving and mildly reproachful eyes of his friends. 

Today, he had wanted to surprise the father and the son by an unannounced visit, and he had smiled when turning the corner of the street where they dwelt, thinking of the pleasure they would have in each other's company. That, of course, was before the grin was literally wiped off his face by the sight of a silhouette that looked rather too much like the Lord Celegorm calmly stepping out of their door. Disbelieving, Orodreth had taken some steps closer, and acknowledged that the figure was, in fact, Celegorm. 

Celegorm who, upon seeing him and guessing his shock and bewilderment, had very kindly smiled, and bade him good day, before casually walking away. 

Orodreth had later realised that he had felt the fleeting need to punch the other elf in the jaw, would it only be to stop him from smiling that way… 

He had stood there at the door for some times, unmoving, lost in thoughts, before Gwindor, coming out and seeing the look on his face, had blushed a light shade of pink, only so slightly, but enough for Orodreth to know of his former friend's embarrassment. Gwindor had begun by inviting him in, and when the Steward had obstinately refused, had given very confusing explanations and made equally confusing apologies, about his father or something Orodreth did not even wait to hear. 

So he was betrayed.

Even by his closest friends.

Heavily irritated, and also somewhat angry at himself for being so easily mocked, he had stormed away from a very guilty sounding Gwindor. Luckily, the weather was not too bad, so a walk in the woods could easily amount for one in the underground City. Not that Orodreth took much notice of the landscape, however much he tried.

There were just other things on his mind. 

Celegorm and Curufin had begun as honour guests of the City, highly enough considered, respected as cousins of the King. They had gradually grown in the esteem of the people and the other Lords, and Curufin especially was thought to be a wise adviser. Orodreth did not believe those things. The two sons of Fëanor -They were sons of Fëanor. How trustworthy could one of those be anyway?- generally disregarded him totally, and, after literally forcing Finrod's pride and patience to the bitter end, acted as if they were themselves the Lords of the City. Celegorm was noticeably good at being arrogant. Maybe it was because of that that Orodreth mostly despised him, while he was always wary of the Lord Curufin. 

He had stayed. When Finrod had gone away at last, not being able to bear the two brothers' constant presence and manipulations of the Court anymore, he had stayed, because, he admitted shamefully, he had been a coward. He had been frightened. The reason he gave himself later was that it was for the people's good. However, that was only much later. At the moment, the only reason he could have given if asked was that he was a coward. 

The two brothers he had hated with a passion, especially in those days immediately following Finrod's leave. Now, all that remained was a very, very strong dislike. He would not admit that they were even worth his hatred.

Of course, Curufin and Celegorm might just have been thinking the same of him, except that they never deemed him worthy of the slightest concern.

He inhaled deeply, and slowed down his pace. It was a beautiful day, he told himself, a very beautiful day, and there was absolutely no reason for wasting it in dark brooding and uncomely thoughts.  Not even that he had just seen the Lord Celegorm emerge from his best friend's house, looking very satisfied with himself indeed. 

A shy ray of sunlight happening through the thick  foliage caught him square in the face, and he smiled, leaning his back against a tree, determined in profiting of his spare time as well as he could. A slight rustle of leaves above him was however too slight to catch his attention. 

Something fell out of the tree.

He started, and yelped in surprise.

"Greetings, my friend."

The thing in question landed smoothly right before him, and turned out to be not something, but someone. After a closer examination, that someone turned out to be the Lord Curufin, with several dried leaves stuck in his otherwise perfectly braided hair. 

It took a certain amount of willpower to suppress the groan that wanted to escape his throat. 

"Hail."

Curufin seemed not to notice his annoyed expression, and looked up with a smile on his face. The dark-haired Lord had a very unsettling capacity for perpetually smiling. Otherwise, his face was a perfect mask of moderated cheerfulness, that seemed to melt into other kind of expressions only when he wanted it to. It was bizarre, and also strangely disturbing, to know that not only was he a master of words, but also of the subtleties of facial language. And also managed to look like a very distracted kind of person.

After all, Orodreth wanted to think highly of the people of Nargothrond, and surely it was easier to get persuaded into doing any kind of things by such a person as Fëanor's fifth son than just any random elf. 

"The weather is beautiful today."

There goes my day, he thought. It was also amazing how the other Lords seemed to adore small talk. They could talk about such trivial matters as the weather or the well-being of families for countless hours. Orodreth, of course, was generally bored out of his mind, though he did his best to follow the conversations, and strike up some words once in a while. It seemed to please the others. However, he did use to think that the Lord Curufin was different in that matter. Apparently, it was not so.

"It is indeed, my Lord. Do you always do that?"

The older elf raised one eyebrow in a query that seemed almost too sincere to be true.

"What?"

"Just drop out of trees?"

His voice slipped. He had wanted to hide his frustration at being interrupted in his musings, and especially interrupted by that very person. It did not work. He sighed and scolded himself inwardly. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was just too young and inexperienced in matters of -dirty-politics for being a ruler of a kingdom. 

Immediately, Curufin looked a little hurt, and concerned.

"My my, you do seem to be in an awful temper… I direly hope it does not mean ill news?"

It was definitively uncommon. Orodreth was sure that the other elf was not hurt or concerned in the least, and yet everything about him seemed to state otherwise. Of course Curufin was such an alluring person for the people. Of course.

But now Orodreth was even more furious with himself, and he shut like a clam.

"No, it does not." he nearly snapped.

Curufin returned to smiling his eerie, unsettling smile.

"I am relieved. What troubles you then, my friend?"

Orodreth turned away. 

"I believe it is a solely personal matter."

But it certainly does not matter to you what I believe, huh? You *know* what troubles me, you know it, but you are just too much of an actor and just want to toy with me…

The dark-haired ElfLord sighed, and looked truly sorry. 

"I wonder… why do you dislike me so?"

Orodreth was taken aback. He thought fast. He knew the conventional answer, of course. No, no, I never disliked you, by the Valar, where do you get such ideas?

He blinked.

"Could it be because you are a Son of Fëanor,' he begun, looking suitingly puzzled 'and I was a child on the Helcaraxë, because you to whom my uncle has given shelter in a time of need, seek now to turn yourself from guests into hosts? Could it be because you sent my uncle away from his very own City to a certain Death, because you are now trying to usurpe even my place as a Steward, of your treacherous brother's thirst for power?' He paused. 'Could it be because you are a traitor, my Lord?"

Curufin shrugged.

"Now, big words…"

"In such a small mind, you mean to say, my Lord?"

He was shocked. At the same time, he was feeling extraordinarily light and pleased with himself. He had never known he was able to say such words, and to say them with such easiness. He had never known he was able to insult someone the same way he was being mocked every day. It felt good. 

Definitely.

"You are putting words into my mouth, my nephew."

"That I do. I know your kind, my uncle."

He nearly startled himself. When had he begun to get so aggressive?

"You think you do?"

"I am not as stupid as you seem to deem me to be."

"Well, that is hardly to be considered a bad thing, is it"

Orodreth laughed lightly.

"My uncle, I will say that you look hardly very impressive with those twigs on your head."

However, Curufin did not seem to notice the mockery, and sighed with a slight smile playing on his lips. 

"Oh, I really must look horrible, don't I?"

He reached up, and carefully removed the four dry leaves that were stuck in his hair. That being done, he looked at Orodreth with an inquiring expression. Then, his face serious and not showing amusement in the least, he bent forwards, slowly passed both arms around the blonde elf's neck, reaching to the back of his head. One second later, he showed the younger elf one dead twig that had somehow come twined with his golden hair.

Orodreth, perceiving  the derision in that gesture threw him a furious look. 

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

However, Curufin did not pull back, and instead began unbraiding the soft, blonde hair. Orodreth, half-disgusted, half too disbelieving to even be disgusted, stepped back, but found that his back was already directly against the tree's rough bark.

"Playing with your hair?"

"Why do I not think so?" He would have spat, but found his face to be much too close to the other elf's to do so.

Curufin's grasp around his shoulders tightened slightly, and he nibbled teasingly at his ear. 

"Come on, don't tell me you have never done this. Or is your charming little daughter really not your own?"

With an outraged cry, Orodreth jerked away. Without his brain even commanding it to do so, his hand came down, aiming for Curufin's cheek.

"I forbid you…" he began saying.

The hand stopped in mid-air. It was a somewhat disturbing fact that Curufin's dagger had jumped into his hand with such speed as he never seemed to have moved, and that dagger was actually pointed at his stomach. 

A dagger always has to be thrust upwards into the stomach, so as to reach the vital organs without risking to be stopped by the ribcage. 

His old master of arms had taught him that. He winced. It was not something pleasant to remember at that moment. 

"That is something you do not wish to do." Curufin whispered.

He cocked an eyebrow, trying to maintain composure. Curufin's face did not seem to show any emotion at all. Even his voice was soft and casual, as if he was just inviting him to come down to tea one day.

And then, Orodreth had always thought that one needed to sound just a slight bit more cheerful to issue such an invitation.

"What? You would kill me?"

What a stupid question, a nagging little voice in his head said. Of course he would kill you without even blinking. He only does not do so because you are still of use to him… whatever use that can be.

The dagger was back to Curufin's belt.

"No. I wouldn't."

Aha. He was so reassured. A kind of morbid curiosity filled him.

"And why not?"

Fëanor's fifth son took one or two steps away from him, all the while still fixing him with his dark eyes.

"There are better ways of destroying a man, you know."

Orodreth snorted.

"And more painful for the victim, you mean?"

"Something along those lines, yes. You are not as dull as I thought you were. Good lad."

He spat. Of course there were no limits to the amount of affront he would accept from those two. If it had been Finrod, he would surely have just left him there as soon as he had seen him, which was actually rapidly becoming a developing option. 

"And do not tell me you still consider yourself enough of a menace to me that I would want to kill you." Curufin said.

Orodreth looked up, and put as much scorn as he could in his stance and words.

"You consider me destroyed already?"

Curufin seemed to be genuinely surprised.

"What, are you not?"

"I am still the Steward of the City."

It meant nothing. They both knew it. 

"Well, I would call that somewhat of an official title." Curufin mused, his eyes wandering somewhere near the treetops. They fell back on Orodreth again.

The silence hung. There was the occasional chirp of a bird, and the rustle in the bushes caused by some small animal scurrying by. A squirrel stooped down from the trunk, looked at them for a second, then, bothered by the sheer amount of tension that hovered in the air, swiftly ran back up into the foliage.

Very, very slowly, Orodreth gave Curufin a slight nod of the head, though without breaking the eye-contact.

"I'm sorry to have taken so much of your precious time then, my Lord. Surely you would prefer to spend it spying on innocent by-passers and dropping off on them."

"Hmm. One never knows… however, the dropping part was a privilege you could consider claiming"

He would have shrugged, but clenched his teeth instead, trying to appear as natural as possible.

"I must be leaving. I, on the contrary, have more important duties to attend to."

Curufin bowed slighlty.

"I am sorely disappointed. I was looking forwards to your company."

"I do not doubt you will soon find solace in other more interesting activities."

"To another time, then, my nephew."

"To another time, my Lord."

He strode away, looking dignified. 

The sound of Curufin's soft, clear laughter followed him insinuatingly, sneaking disturbing thoughts into his mind.

~ 


	2. Part two

Author's note: Well, as far as Orodreth's wife is concerned, let's just say that she died in the attack on Minas Tirith. But of course both Curufin and Orodreth are bound in this story. 

Intrigue

By Le Chat Noir

Chapter two

One week had passed, and the young Steward had heard nothing of the Lord Curufin. Of course the two sons of Fëanor were still pulling the strings of the Court and City to make it work their way, and every one of their manipulations never went unnoticed by Orodreth, though he was absolutely powerless to prevent it, and was reduced to merely watching and clenching his fists in passive irritation. 

He just didn't hear any *more* of Curufin that he usually did. The one of the brothers to actually act was generally Celegorm anyway, so he wasn't surprised when the blonde elf was the one to raise another scandal among the still faithful to the House of Finarfin, by succeding into turning the Lord Guilin to his side. Though the actual people seemed to think absolutely nothing of it. And that usually meant that Curufin was at work in the background, putting the pieces together and handing the final result to his brother to put to use. 

Actually, to think of it, the usually friendly-seeming and pointless-sounding-chatter-loving ElfLord had been noticeably silent and made very few appearances at Court. For that Orodreth was thankful, though something in his mind warned him that it probably did not mean anything good for him. It was presumably just a short respite before something else would happen… something he would not look forwards to if he knew what it was.

However, in his current state of ignorance, he could only guess with a kind of morose curiosity and await the events to befall with a gruesome fascination. 

With a vengeance, he dipped his quill into the inkwell angrily, splashing a certain amount of definitely permanent black liquid on his fingers, and cursed fluently at it all. 

It was hot for the season. Overbearingly hot. Paperwork had never seemed more boring. He had been simply staring at the sheet of calculations -Valar damn economy and trade- for some hours, absolutely incapable of thinking anything of it. Who *cared* about the amount of wheat and rice the Kingdom needed for one month… well, the inhabitants probably did. And he himself probably did, too. After all, one couldn't quite think of going on eating without any wheat or rice, especially that lembas itself was based off those… but why was he the one who needed to think it out… 

He smirked. If Celegorm would eventually get the throne, then they would see how well *he* would do at it. Apart from the fact that Celegorm had Curufin for him, and Curufin seemed just like the kind of person who would be able to neatly and perfectly finish this kind of things in mere five minutes.

Argh. 

Life was unfair.

Abandoning the patently afore-lost fight with the paper and the quill -oh, letters dancing in front of his eyes- he crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them with a yawn. He had been getting far too little sleep lately. There was always this to tend to, that to look over, this to take care of and that to finish… Celegorm was the one to have the power, and he himself was left with the official title, understand all the official chores here…

It was never supposed to be like that. If he wanted to, he could just dismiss the two brothers with a word and never see them again -unthinkable bliss!-, until the Eastern Marches launched war on Nargothrond and caught them by total surprise and destroyed them to the last… No, wait, what was he thinking, of course Nargothrond's strength was at least twice greater than that of the March of Maedhros… but was that even true? He could not think. Not think. His eyelids felt heavy. With a sigh, he buried his face deeper into the folds of his arms. Where was Finduilas now, he wondered? Maybe with Gwindor… The young girl had never been worried about anything having to do with politics… He had seen to that… And Gwindor himself was a nice lad, it was after all not his fault if his father had been too susceptible to Curufin's sharp wits and Celegorm's assurance… He hoped they would be happy together…

Happier than he was, anyway, as happy as one could be when one lived in a kingdom where the King was gone, the Steward too young and powerless to do anything and directed like a puppet by the sly machinations of two treacherous sons of Fëanor, happy as could be when you were the daughter of the said Steward and yet too innocent to understand what happens around you, when you were a young man torn between the loyalties to your father or your wife… 

Suddenly, the weariness aiding, everything that had happened to him since the onslaught of the Bragollach and the loss of his wife came crashing down like a bullet of lead.

~ 

There was a small rap at his door. He was not sure if it was the first one or if the person had been knocking for some time already. He felt good. Yes, sleep felt good. Even if it was sleeping with his head rested on his desk. He didn't want to move.

The tapping came again. There was something moist on his cheek. Lazily, he reached up to wipe it away. Also a kind of bitter, salty taste in his mouth. His eyes stung. With a groan, he shut them again. It was not a time to be woken up. He still wanted to sleep. He still needed sleep. 

The person, whoever it was rapped on his door again, this time more insistently. Than, after two seconds of stillness, the door-handle began to turn. 

Damn.

It was all a fraction of a second for him to start up from his earlier position, realise that he had been crying, that his eyes probably were still red from it, that his hair was a mess from sleeping, that there were the folds of his sleeve printed on his cheek, that his wits were completely dispersed to all four corners of his mind with no hope of him catching them again in time; and, most definitely, that he was *not* presentable for any kind of visitors that could be showing up. 

A dark-haired, dark-eyed head was thrust in from the door ajar, with an inquisitive look.

No. It could not be. It just could not be that Iluvàtar was pitiless enough to allow someone to be that unlucky, even on this Arda Marred. 

"Are you alright, my Lord Steward?"

Orodreth did not answer. He remarked that his mouth had been hanging slightly open, and immediately closed it, desperately racking his brain for something possible to say, or any pose he could adopt. Finally, by default, he chose to stay silent, and sat down again, completely dazed but truly unwilling to let it transpire. 

He tried his best to smile. That, apparently, seemed to satisfy Curufin, who also smiled in reply and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

He was wearing only his leggings and a light tunic, and looked at Orodreth apologetically.

"I am sorry for this careless bearing. The heat does not suit me."

Orodreth's mind was currently setting itself to work again, and was working fast to register all the information. This was the Lord Curufin. He had been trying to actually *seduce* him, however stupid it all sounded, some days ago. As if by accident, he came in just as he was in an utterly defenceless state. There had been no guards at the door to announce him or anything of that sort. He just happened to be dressed like that -however actually good it looked-, although the explanation he had offered was perfectly believable. 

At the end of that train of thoughts, was a big red panel marked: 'Caution'. 

Orodreth stopped smiling, and took up his quill in an attempt to look busy. 

"Is there something you want from me, my Lord?" he asked as casually as he could.

"Well, you could say that." The dark-haired elf stepped closer. Orodreth blinked.

"And pray, what would that be?"

Curufin moved to stand behind him.

"I think you are just playing innocent…"

Realising that it was all going to happen *again*, and severely unnerved by that fact, Orodreth put the quill down, and turned his chair halfway to face the other elf, sending him the most cynical glare he could muster.

"So suddenly I am not the little dullard child anymore, am I?"

One of Curufin's brow shot up.

"My, did I ever say you were?"

Orodreth's head commenced to hurt. Patently, the moments just after waking up were not the best of times to be having a match of wits with such an opponent, who did not even seem bothered by the fact that a good part of what he was saying was lies and pure lies.

"Now, I wonder which one of us is really playing innocent here…" the blonde elf muttered loudly enough for the other to hear.

Curufin stepped behind him once more. 

"You are too tense. You also need to relax sometimes, you know."

Two hands were rested lightly on his shoulders, and began massaging there. Orodreth suppressed a groan.

"That is something I would not wish to do while you remain in the room."

"And why so? Do you consider my presence as threatening as that?"

He tried to shake the hands off, but apparently they had a much stronger grip on him than he had expected.

"Your game frustrates me, my Lord. I would be very grateful if you would leave me alone."

"Well, maybe that is not one thing I wish to accord you."

He found that the older elf's face was hovering somewhere just beside his own, at a much, much closer distance than decency would have allowed; but did his best not to acknowledge the fact. The massage did feel good. Anyway, if it didn't go any further than that… He shut his eyes, and tried to forget who was actually doing the artful rubbing.

It was still a little bit unsettling.

"We are both bound." Stupid, stupid thing to say, his brain told him.

The voice answering seemed soft and distant, though he felt the warm breath just near his ear.

"That we are."

"I still hate you." Even more idiotic.

"You do."

"You don't even care for me." That just broke the record.

"I do not."

He sighed. So Curufin was maybe not so much of liar after all… What exactly *was* happening? 

Rather, what were they both trying to prove?

"Then why in Mandos are you doing this?"

Fëanor's son shrugged.

"Because I am bored. I really have nothing better to do, you know."

By the Valar. If the situation hadn't been so ridiculously serious, Orodreth would have laughed out loud. Because he couldn't, he simply resorted to the usual sense of sarcasm.

"You do consider doing this better than some other things? I am honoured."

"It can certainly count as more entertaining."

Just how could he speak with such a distracted, bored voice? It was nerve-wracking. Orodreth reached up one hand to touch his forehead. 

"Aha. I appreciate your refined sense of humour, my Lord."

"I am pleased that you do."

With a grimace, he shook the hands off, and this time, they let go easily.

"Now, if you would please leave me alone in the company of this most interesting piece of paperwork…"

Certainly, most interesting… Damn once more. He had almost succeeded into forgetting about the wheat and the rice. 

"I can offer help."

The offer seemed genuine. However, Orodreth was not yet too far gone as to trust anything that seemed genuine from the Lord Curufin. He settled his chair so it would face the supposed direction again.

"I do not think I need any, though I thank you for your generous offer, my Lord. I would not wish to rob you of your most precious time."

"It is not a problem."

He sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was the heat finally getting to him. What kind of a contest of lies and masks… He hated politics. Hated hated. Now it had even got him into lying the most blatant lies ever heard in his whole darn life. 'I do not think I need any help, my Lord, though I thank you for your generous offer' alright. 'Of course I need help, poor old bastard, but I would rather not have it from you.' Yes, that was more like it. Definitely.

Curufin bent over his shoulder, and threw a look at the paper.

"That makes fifteen hundreds forty-nine."

Orodreth grimaced, but noted the number down anyway.

"I could have done it myself."

"Yes, but I'm faster than you are."

"You are making montre of your talents, my Lord."

"Maybe I am."

"Do not bother. There is no one for you to impress here."

Curufin sighed, and bent down to rest both elbows on the desk, resting his chin in his hands.

"Orodreth, Orodreth, child, why did you not go away in tow with your uncle, why did you not offer yourself to assist our dear friend Finrod?"

The quill caught the paper and splattered an amount of ink all over it. Orodreth stared. It was uncanny just how innocent a blank sheet of paper could look, even with meaningless scribbling all over it, and three or four stains of black ink.

"There had to be someone to stay and see to the people."

So he was able to take that kind of a voice too. Well.

"Oh, so always the same excuse, isn't it? And you also say your kin followed my Father into Middle-Earth because you needed to see to the people?"

Orodreth felt something overtaking him. It was rage. It was hatred. It was revulsion and disgust. It was an urgent need to slap him, and not caring whether he would get pierced by a dagger the moment after. It was a lot of things, all mixed together, and it made him turn pale and jump up from his seat, pointing a vengeful finger to the other elf's nose. 

"Look here, you," he spat, the spiteful words rolling off his tongue without letting him acknowledge what he was saying first. "I know I am nothing, I know you and your bastard of a brother" Curufin's careless glare suddenly hardened, but only for a moment; however long enough for Orodreth to know he had touched a weak spot. "have usurped my throne, I know you control them all and that my _uncle's City sways under your words, I know you do not think of me as higher than a puddle of mud you would tread on with your booted foot, I know you have turned them all against me! I know this! But maybe you should learn that I, at least, will not be bent by your pretty words!"_

He inspired deeply, slightly frightened by what he had just dared do. 

Curufin had lost his good-humoured attitude. He stayed there, unmoving, staring Orodreth in the eye, with his head tilted sideways.  

"Oh. You would not?"

And Orodreth knew he had made a mistake. He had thought the older elf's voice had been soft before. Well. It was certainly even more the case now. It was like a mix between a purr and a growl, while all the while staying very, very smooth.

Thrice damn.

"No."

Curufin stood up, leaning forwards, so as to force Orodreth into retreating, slowly. 

"You are sure?"

Still stepping back, Orodreth's mind worked fast. They were about the same height. About the same built. Maybe Curufin was even thinner than he was. They should be about the same strength, if it eventually came down to that. Instinctively, he reached for his own dagger, and felt the cold metal in his palm with relief. 

On the other hand, the Lord Curufin was a very experienced warrior. He did not look like it, but at least rumour said he was. Orodreth had never actually seen him fighting. To think of it, he did not want to. 

Better take no risks.

"I will call…"

He realised the wall was coming close up behind him. Curufin's eyelids half-fell over his pupils, giving him an almost cat-like look. Orodreth was not pleased with his current situation.

"No one will come."

Must be jest. Of course his guards would come if he called them. It was just a mean of intimidation, wasn't it? 

"Do not think yourself too powerful. There still are those who stay faithful…"

"I sent them away."

What?

"You sent my guards away?" he hissed.

Curufin shrugged.

"Yes. Could not have them barging in, could I now?"

His back touched the wall. A hand was fiddling with the front clasp of his robe.

"I do not allow this…"

Wait. What exactly did he not allow? A last remainder of irony flashed through his mind. What power had he left to forbid anything now anyway?

"Are you threatening me?" The older elf asked with a look of amusement.

Curufin's lips sought his, almost playfully. In a last attempt at doing *something*, Orodreth turned his face away and drew the sharp dagger out.

"You know I could be running this through your heart this very moment…"

He felt more than saw the other elf smile.

"And yet you are not."

A pair of firm hands pinned his shoulders to the wall with unexpected strength. 

~ 

Five minutes later, he found himself being propped onto his bed -how did they make it to his bedchambers, he wondered-, his robes and tunic somehow discarded to the other end of the room, the other elf's tongue somewhere on his neck and his fingers roaming his body in a way that should certainly not be allowed…

Then, suddenly, he felt Curufin lean back to sit on his tights, in the same motion abruptly interrupting his earlier ministrations.

"What is it?" Slightly frustrated, he opened his eyes, to find the dark-haired elf staring at him with a quizzical  expression, both eyebrows raised into elegant arches.

"Is this all?"

There was a tinge somewhere in his brain, and, a little suspicious, he propped himself onto his elbows.

"What do you mean?"

"You surrendered yourself to me? Just like that? No fighting? No ultimate resistance, or anything of that sort?"

A little smile began to curve Curufin's lips.

"I do not understand…"

A smile that he definitely did not like.

"You are too good at not understanding, Artaher son of Angaràto, Lord Steward of Nargothrond, _my nephew…"_

Anger suddenly flaring up, his brows furrowed, and he sat up to stare the other elf in the eye. Curufin was still fully clothed. At least as fully clothed as he had come in as.

"I am not your nephew…"

"Who would not be bent by my pretty words…"

He felt his face flush in a most embarrassing way, though at that moment he thanked Iluvàtar for the control his elven spirit held over the needs of his body, and clenched his teeth.

"Darkness-spawn…"

With a wry smile, Curufin suddenly bent forwards to deposit one light, playful kiss on his lips.

"Does seem like my pretty face works much better on you, huh?"

He had known it. Of course. He had just not known it hard enough. 

"So you were just toying with me all along."

What was that bitter tone in his voice… 

Curufin stood up lightly, and the next moment was sitting on the bed next to him. He handed him his tunic.

"Oh no. I would not dare do that."

Orodreth bit his lower lip, but was absolutely too ashamed with himself to be angry at the other elf anymore. Very slowly, he put his piece of clothing back on.

"You convince me."

Curufin laughed.

"You see, little elf, my brother and I are both lovers of power." A strange gleam sprang into his eyes. Thanks, thought Orodreth. I didn't know that. "Only in very different ways. My brother longs for power… pure power. He wishes to see everyone obey him at the slightest command, without a question or even a thought." A contemptuous smile curled his mouth. "That is why he wishes for the throne. You have been victim to that thirst. You know it.'"

Orodreth tasted blood, and realised he had bit his lip just a little too hard.

"However, the kind of power I like is very unlike this. If I was offered the throne, I probably would not even take it." Orodreth was shocked. And he was asking him to believe *this*? "Or maybe I would, just to see what it feels like. But I probably have a very good guess already. It would feel boring." He lifted an eyebrow. "You agree with me, don't you?"

He did not answer. Apparently, Curufin had not demanded an answer at all.

"Don't you think it would be boring to be truly all powerful? I mean, I would probably rapidly become a cold-blooded tyrant or something of that kind." He shrugged, and this time, Orodreth believed him entirely. "Or rather, I would wish with all my heart that I could just run away from that place and never return again." He issued a short laugh. "I am however unlucky to have such recognisable physical features." It was true, Orodreth guessed. He personally had never seen Fëanor himself, but nearly every older elf who had were agreed on the fact that the Spirit of Fire's fifth son looked almost exactly like him. "I prefer…" He made a vague gesture with his hand. "…you know…" 

He looked at Orodreth pointedly. 

No, thought the younger elf, no, I do definitely not know, and maybe I am going to wish that I never did in some minutes…

Curufin sighed.

And then he was gone.

Orodreth stared at the door.

~ 

Author's note: I am *not* pleased with my Muse. Not at all. The said Muse, though, seems to be ravished with present position, and refuses to budge from my head. Will consider finding a new one, and firing the said little annoying… person. Hm. Not so little, apparently.


	3. Part three

Author's note: I don't know. I just don't know, ok? 

Intrigue

By Le Chat Noir

Chapter three

The blonde elf sat on the riverbank with his bare feet in the running water. The earth stained his fancy robes. It was a purple robe, made of fine silk, with golden embroideries; Celebrimbor supposed the crest of the House of Finarfin was spread on the chest, too, but in the elf's actual position it was impossible to see. 

Not wanting to intrude, he stood at a distance, leaning on a tree, quite certain that Orodreth had not remarked his presence. 

The newly crowned King of Nargothrond embraced himself with both arms, as if he were cold. But he could not be cold, Celebrimbor reflected. Vasa shone largely, almost too brightly, and the dark-haired elf sometimes had to reduce his eyes to mere slits to protect his pupils from the darting rays. 

He didn't know Orodreth liked rivers. As far as he had seen, it was always Finrod who sought the brooks out in the forest, nourishing for the chanting creeks a passion that could make him sit by their sides for days and days, listening to their tender babble in the utmost delight. Sometimes, he would start to whisper himself, idly dripping his fingers in the vivid streams, lost in a world that he shared only with the laughing water. It was a kind of thing Finrod could do, and did; to children it made him loveable, thought their parents were somewhat sceptic about it, as much as they respected their Lord and his ability to be rational and wisely brave when it came to need. 

Orodreth's head tilted forwards a little more, and for a second Celebrimbor feared that he had fallen asleep. But soon, he saw that it was not so. He cursed under his breath. Not directed at anyone, really. Curse the world. Curse the politics. Curse the powerlust. Curse the House rivalries, the Kingship, the stupid, stupid wars, just curse it all… 

Since the moment Orodreth had become his friend -somewhat-, he had known the younger elf had never been meant to be a leader, least of all a son of the royal House. Orodreth was patient and trustworthy, not extraordinarily intelligent but not dull either, and he was hard-working, willing to sacrifice himself entirely if it meant good for the people he loved. Overall, it meant that his main problem was his lack of confidence. At the core, Finarfin's grandson had remained a very weak and dependable person, always wavering, hesitating, distrusting himself, fearing to err and eager to do the best for the City and the people, though never able to make thorough and drastic decisions when needed. Celebrimbor had even wondered with incredulity if Orodreth had not wanted to truly believe that Celegorm and Curufin were better leaders than he was, and that it was for the best that they had taken over. 

Even this morning, it had taken the people's thirsty claim for blood and all the Lord's support and counsel to make him think he even could attempt to throw them out. 

Generally, Orodreth was good at hiding his weaknesses. Generally, he did not show himself to be incapable in public. Only, to someone like Celebrimbor, his usual shield of sarcasm and cynicism was only too obvious and relevant. Maybe it was because of that he had wanted to befriend him, and not of their close ages. Maybe it was because he saw the King's young nephew certainly unable to stand against the perfidious schemes of his father, while hating the two Sons of Fëanor with all his heart. Strangely, Orodreth seemed to be the first at the Court to devise that Celegorm and Curufin's intentions were not that of the good of Finrod and himself, while all the other Lords were rather charmed by the brothers' polite manners and sweet words. Orodreth, on the contrary, had seemed to see through their smiles at first glance, and loathed them everafter. 

Not that it made him less vulnerable to their machinations. 

Celebrimbor, who had seen the young elf bite his lower lip each time one of the two brothers addressed him, or when he heard one other Lord jesting with them friendly, had immediately wanted to befriend him. At the time, he had been seeking an ally against his father, someone who could see through the handsome complexion and engaging smiles. He had thought they could maybe start a kind of opposition against the two brothers, and that the King's own nephew should be a worthy supporter indeed. So he went to him, and exposed his ideas clearly and precisely -after all, he was Curufin's son, and there might had been some quiproquo-, and waiting for the answer he was sure to be positive.

Well, guess what, he turned out to be completely wrong. 

He found that, for one, if Orodreth detested Celegorm and Curufin, and was willing to oppose them, be it alone against the world -the blonde elf was still very, very young in his heart, Celebrimbor soon remarked with some surprise, and desperately held onto his ideals-, he was completely unable to do any kind of things having to do with politics and possessed entirely too much *heart* to lie with a straight face and act as someone unpersonal, which was, after all, one of the basic skills of the politician. He also found that he was not undergoing the most wonderful period of his life; after his defeat at Minas Tirith which everyone still reproached him, the almost simultaneous loss of both his father and his wife, his only daughter rapidly growing apart from him to spend more and more time with her fiancé, and the constant scorn of the Lords of Himlad, Orodreth was very near breakdown point, all the while occupied in artfully balancing himself between reality and nervous depression. After their very first meeting, Celebrimbor had immediately abandoned the idea -it was, he had to admit, a very vague idea; after all, he himself was not much older than the other- of forming a league with him, but had become totally engrossed in Orodreth's fascinating personality. 

He had to admit his father was right on that point; the young Steward made a terribly incompetent leader and would probably just push the whole City to its ruins if left alone to direct it. But as a friend, Orodreth was just about everything Celebrimbor had ever imagined, never having had a real one before; he could listen, though the dark-haired elf spoke little, he could laugh and sing a little bit, he could take a jest or a mockery as easily as smoothly, only answering by a sarcasm of his own; he was willing to teach what he knew, and eager to learn what he didn't, and when it seized him he could speak with unleashed passion and utter faith in his ideas, though these, serious as they were, often made him want to smile. Sometimes, they sparred, but then Celebrimbor was almost sure to win. Neither having a great taste for hunting, during their rides together all they did was talk, sing loudly to enjoy the flutter of the birds' wings when they fled from their cacophony, and invent poems for everything they met, be it a squirrel or a rotten fruit their horses stepped on; then engage in the elaborate process of ridiculing each other's voice or verses, though both knew it was jest. 

It was an unspoken contract between them not to talk of the schemes of the Court, though there the tongues were unleashed about the friendship between the two young princes of the House of Fëanor and Finarfin.

Then his father had to interfere. Maybe he did not even do it on purpose, but since the day Curufin nearly forced Finrod out of his own City, Orodreth suddenly happened to be always very busy and never have time to spend with his former best friend. Of course, Celebrimbor supposed it had to do with the additional chores of being the Steward when the King was absent -and very probably permanently absent-, but often he found the blonde elf just sitting there, staring at the air, completely lost in reverie; those fits could last for hours during which there was apparently nothing accomplished. 

Maybe a little hurt in his feelings by this inattention, Celebrimbor had gradually ceased to seek the other's company. 

And now. 

He was sitting there, and he was standing there, and between them there were only a few steps to be taken yet a distance that maybe could never be crossed anymore. 

Orodreth bent his head even further down, so that his loose hair was beginning in to get caught in the lively current. 

Only a few steps, Celebrimbor told himself, only a few steps…

Then the younger elf seemed to break down completely, and fell forwards, letting the whole of his head and shoulders dangle in the water, while violent shivers shook his body. 

Alarmed, Celebrimbor hesitated no more. In eight rapid strides he was at his friend's side; however then, he found that he could not think of any words of comfort. He had never been the one for that sort of things. He was always good at talking, saying things when they needed to be said, lying when it was necessary, turning ugly facts around with pretty words and phrases. Speaking the truth, he found, was a lot more difficult than telling lies. At the moment, he would have wanted to say something, nearly anything, but for the sake of his life could not find one suitable sentence to utter. 

At a loss, he sat down near the shaking form as silently as he could, and slid one comforting arm around Orodreth's shoulders. 

Unless he plans on drowning himself, he thought, there will have to be a moment when he'll have to come up again. 

About a minute later, however, Celebrimbor began to grow worried, and gently pulled Orodreth's head out of the water. He could only see his mouth; the long blonde hair was drenched into a very compact plaster that clung to the upper part of his face. His breathing was heavy, and he was still shaking violently. 

Still at a loss for what to say, but slightly frightened by his friend's state, Celebrimbor asked hesitantly "What do you seek in the stream?"

The answer came as no more than a whisper. "I don't know."

"A counsel, maybe?"

The visible mouth curled into a silent laugh.

"Finrod always came here to listen to Ulmo's counsels. But Ulmo does not speak to me. I am far too insignificant for that. I am not the golden prince, I am not Felagund, the wise Lord of the Halls, I am not the son of Finarfin… I do not see why Ulmo would address me…"

Celebrimbor tried to push the hair away from the other's face, but to no account; and continued being able to see only the mouth. 

"I was reluctant to go away from Dorthonion at first. I was a little scared at the idea of finding myself among all these strangers, high Lords and noble princes, be the King my own uncle." He chuckled, suddenly, a weird sound thrown randomly in the context, but it was devoid of any kind of hilarity. "Father told me a lot about Finrod at those times. To tranquillise my fears, he said that Ingoldo was the gentlest of all his siblings, that he was kind and wise, though firm and severe when there was a reason for it. He said that he was often mischievous like a youngling himself, though the eldest of his brothers, and was though a little eccentric by some back then, mainly for his unjustifiable passion for anything that had to do with water. And then Father would laugh. He said that, for those who knew him well, they had always known that Finrod was more like a river himself than anything else. He disappeared, sometimes, just like that, and then he could always be found sitting by himself on a riverbank. Except for the day, he would add smiling to himself, when they found him sitting with Amarië in his lap. No one could beat him at racing, he said. Some said that it was just like he grew wings. Of course, among his family and close friends, it was more commonly believed that he flowed more than flew." He paused, and tried to regain an even breathing. "When I went to Tol Sirion, I found that most of what he said was true indeed. He had only forgotten to add that somewhere deep inside, Finrod was the saddest person I would ever meet on this face of the Earth." He shivered. "Just sad. Not disillusioned, not bitter, not hateful nor miserable. Just sad. Then I understood what they mean when they say suffering and tears only enhance beauty in its purest form. Only that he never cried. Or maybe he did, when he was all alone. Reckon he did? Really sounds like all streams go to the Sea, doesn't it…" Orodreth bit his lower lip. "All streams…"

Celebrimbor drew the younger elf closer to himself in his embrace.

"I'm sorry for Finrod, my friend. I'm sorry."

Then Orodreth laughed, a laugh somewhat reminiscent of his usual sarcasms.

"No you're not. You never knew him. You're sorry because you think I'm crying. You say you're sorry because you want me to think I have your compassion."

Startled by the cynical bitterness in his friend's voice, Celebrimbor asked warily "What do you mean?"

Unbothered, Orodreth went on.

"It is frightening to think how powerful Morgoth is, isn't it? Even the one who is only his servant managed to defeat one of the greatest among us. He defeated me, too. I have seen his shadow. Finrod had to die under that shadow. He fought it to the bitter end. I felt like the shadow itself would have killed me if I had stayed a second longer." He sighed, and suddenly stood, wrenching himself away from Celebrimbor's arm. With nervous strides, he paced back and forth on the riverbank, under the other elf's bemused gaze. "And even among us, the shadows live, sowing seeds of distrust and hatred between those who should be allies against it… I will not walk with the Sons of Fëanor again, never again, that I shan't… but who knows? Maybe one day there will be one ragged survivor of the war coming to knock on my door, and then he'll tell me 'Fool! If you had fought with us, then we might have overcome!' And then I know I will kill him, and then I'll kill myself. You know, if I had to commit suicide, I would drown." 

Suddenly filled with unjustifiable fear and anger, Celebrimbor also shot up from his sitting position and cried "Do not speak like that! Why would you do such a thing?"

Only a short laugh answered him. He could see Orodreth's eyes now, and it did not please him all that much.

"Finrod always loved the streams, and of all the Vala Ulmo was his favourite who spoke to him in his dreams… For me he is silent… Tyelpe, when you sit by the riverside, do you hear the murmurs of the water, its crystal clear laughter? Do you hear the water sing?"

A sharp and pointed glance caught him straight in the eye, seemingly barging its way to the very core of his soul. Celebrimbor almost gulped from the unexpected intrusion. He had not even known Orodreth was able to do that… Supposedly the blonde elf had not known it either.

 Not really knowing what to make of it, he replied a little warily 'Yes…'

Orodreth's arms went up in the air in desperation. It had not, Celebrimbor reflected, been the right answer.

"I do not!" The son of Angrod was shouting. "I hear nothing! I hear the laughter, and to me it is but a laugh thrown in derision! I hear the babble, and to me it means nothing more than endless hours spent listening so hard I can't even perceive it anymore at the end! I hear it all, and to me it tells nothing! Nothing!"

Waiting for no answer, the young King went on; it was a possibility that he was even completely oblivious of the other's presence.

"I had to send him away, you know that! I had to swear that we would not waste our love to support them, nor any Sons of Fëanor, nor any of the people of the March! He made me do it, the spawn of Darkness! There was nothing like the scorn in his eyes; oh, that I could see what it meant, and it meant that I am nothing! I know this!" Gradually, his voice ascended, till Celebrimbor really believed he was on the brink of hysteria. "He just had to throw it in my face again and again! They all just had to look at me with that little expression of pity and disdain, but do you think I needed them to know? I knew! I have always known! Even you, when I talked to you sometimes you would look at me like that and I knew it was not entirely jest! I should never have been born what I am, I am a failure, a total failure! I should have been born a peasant, or an artisan -though I have no skills of hand; I am not like you-, never a royal prince…" He faltered, and stopped walking. "What have I brought my people? I ask you, what have I brought them? I was not even able to defend my own City against a pair of treacherous…" He spat, but could apparently not find an expression that would have been insulting enough. Or maybe, though Celebrimbor, that he just could not choose between all those that went through his head, and that was a more likely answer. "…persons only interested in powerlust…"

A flow of tears sprang from his eyes.

"Orodreth!"

Suddenly, the younger elf sunk to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

"Do not try to say otherwise, I know it is true…"

Hastily, Celebrimbor knelt by his side and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"Orodreth! What did he *do* to you?"

"Who…"

"Curse my father, curse him to Mandos for eternity, what did he do to you?"

"You know I had to send him away, I could not do otherwise… For the City… For Finrod… I had to swear that oath against them…" 

Celebrimbor was surprised. Orodreth was… literally bawling. What he was saying was also rather incoherent to his ears.

"By Aulë, my friend, who are you making apologies to? Me?"

Orodreth issued a short, dry laugh that resembled a sob. "Oh Valar… I guess I am making them to myself, am I not?"

"What did he do to you? You never were like that…" Pity began to creep into his heart, as much as Celebrimbor tried to shake it off. 

"I always was, and you know that," Orodreth said with a weak smile. "only I had to keep it all inside myself and it just happens to become too heavy once in a while… I'm sorry, I'm still very young and stupid, you said it yourself."

Celebrimbor looked at him blankly.

"That was in jest."

The other one shrugged. "But it could not have been truer had it been said seriously."

A sigh escaped him. Lazily, he let go of Orodreth's shoulders, and laid himself down on the grass. Imitating his example, the blonde elf settled himself next to him.

"You can always talk to me, you know that." 

Orodreth smiled, and stared at the sky.

"I know that. I will remember it."

"Don't you want to talk now?"

"No. I already did my amount of talking, didn't I? I think now it's your turn."

"I wasn't the one sitting on the riverbank and crying my eyes out."

"Tell me why you chose to stay with me and not go with your father."

"Too bad there are no clouds. We could have done some cloud-watching."

"That, my friend, was a very bad and obvious attempt at changing the subject."

Celebrimbor laughed, a little forcefully, and sighed immediately afterwards.

"Because you're my friend?"

With a curious look, Orodreth shifted his position to stare of the other elf's profile.

"You must have hated your father very much, didn't you?"

Celebrimbor held up a finger, so it looked like he was pointing to the sky. "You know, I have spent my whole life at his side. I know him. I think I know him."

"I would not have been able to bear that."

"You would have. It's just one thing one gets used to when one knows nothing else. Of course, when I came here and knew your friendship, I was not very eager to return to it."

Orodreth fell on his back again.

"Was it very horrible?"

Celebrimbor shrugged.

"Not that much. When I was young, he gave the impression that he cared about me. I never remembered anything about my mother. My earliest memories are those of Formenos, and the silence. I don't know why. I was still very young. A mere five years old. All I remember of Formenos was silence, and terrible shadows. These came when everyone was asleep.' He laughed shortly. 'You know how it was. Never night. Just light, brighter light, dimmer light. I was in the same room as my father, and I had nightmares every time. I would wake up and cry in my pillow. I was careful not to make a sound, but somehow, he always heard me, even when he seemed to be in deep slumber. My father apparently never was what he seemed to be, not even in sleep. He would always take me with him on his bed then -it was a very big bed, I remember; of course that is because I was very small- and he would cradle me in his arms, and talk to me. I tried not to budge then because I knew he was very tired, but still every time I cried he would wake up. He really seemed to be a normal father back then. Of course our lives at Formernos could not be considered very normal lives; as I told you, all I remember is silence and shadows. Not even songs; and with my uncle Maglor present, there should have been songs. I remember my grandfather a little bit. He didn't appear often, yet I know I feared him and that each time I heard his pace -one could always recognise his pace- I would try to run away or hide behind my father's legs. Then I grew up a little. My father and uncles always seemed to be very busy with something, though I didn't understand what, so I kept away. Bizarrely, I went to my great-grandfather Finwë, the High King. My father had taught me to read and to write, and Finwë read with me. It must have been a funny sight: Finwë, one of the Unbegotten, Highest Lord of the Deep Elves, and this little five years old child who was his great-grandson, sitting by his side, both bent over the same big, fat book. When I had too much difficulty, or was too tired, I laid on the bed, and he read to me. Then I would fall asleep, and the shadows would come no more."

He stopped, with a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and shook his head.

"I am bothering you with my memories. I am a boring person when I talk. I can't talk about this."

Because this is the truth, he added mentally, and being my father's son of course I would be much better at speaking lies.

Orodreth smiled, and pointed a finger to the older elf's chest, adopting a deep and important voice.

"As the newly appointed King of this realm, I order you to continue your story."

"But it is going to develop into the history of my life,' Celebrimbor wailed 'and we'll never have time for it!"

Orodreth threw him a glance.

"Tell me more about your father."

The older elf raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nevertheless went on.

"When we left Valinor, my father placed me in front of him on his great horse. Unlike other children, I never had a pony to myself, and learnt to ride only when I was old enough to hold myself on a real horse." He smiled again at the memory. "It was a young stallion who was not very happy about having an inexperienced rider on his back; but my father was firm about it and a good teacher; and I held on for my life." He laughed, and Orodreth was also drawn to laughing, though he shared not the memory. "I was sitting in front of him and he had one arm around my waist while holding the reins with the other; I never asked where we were going. But often he would bend down to me, and whisper into my ears; he said we were going to leave the night behind and find a new home somewhere else, in a place where we would be free at last. At the moment I didn't really understand what he meant by 'free'; I was thinking 'Free from what?'" He shrugged. "Now sometimes I think he was speaking according to the lines of his father, free from thralldom, from slavery; but then I wonder what thralldom he was really talking about. Not the one of with the Valar, I don't think so; not for him." He shut his eyes. "Why did you want to know about my father?"

Orodreth shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry. It must be a painful subject for you."

"Oh no." Celebrimbor's voice hardened a tad. "I also need to know that I can speak about him that dispassionately. I am not under his dominion, not anymore. I've spent my whole life living with him, and a good part of it ignoring him just as he ignored me; you find that it helps grow a backbone somewhat. I only mean to say that he was not always like that; there was also a time when all he did was seek. Don't look at me like that; that's only what I felt. It was back in Formenos, I think, I don't truly know anymore. He paid attention back then. Of course he still does now, he still pays attention because he cannot afford not to, or one day someone will come up in his back and stab him dead; but I always felt that he was only looking for something. Especially since he was always that busy and I didn't get to see him much…" He laughed. "When I was young, I thought he was looking for a mother for him and me. Goes to show that being a precocious child, I wasn't that very smart in some matters indeed. I don't even have a memory of my mother. Maybe only a voice, and I don't know if it's hers or not." He paused for a second.

"Even after the Kinslaying, when he came back to me -surprisingly, he was not bloody at all, just drenched in salty water; I expect he took the time to take a bath in the Sea- he was still what he was before. For all I know, whatever happened happened at Losgar. We were watching the ships burn; there were only us, and my grandfather. Then I saw how really alike they were in looks, 'tis true my father is well-named. I didn't even dare raise my eyes as far as grandfather's chin, and buried my face in the folds of my father's tunic. He was caressing my hair, if I remember well. Whatever happened took place then. Or began to. When we set out on our horse again, he was different. He was smiling. It was a sad little smile, but I don't think he ever smiled like that before." He shivered. "When I was a youth he taught me all I know; and always allowed me into any library I could find on my way. He took me with him a lot in his travels; with him I met the Grey-Elves, and the dwarves, and from them we learnt together. He taught me to decrypt ancient manuscripts and understand foreign tongues, he taught me to shape the metal and stain the glass, he taught me in lore and science; I cannot say that he was not a good teacher. All that I am, I owe to him. However, after a while, he just took onto ignoring me completely, as much as he could for two persons who live under the same roof anyway. I never knew why." 

A sigh escaped him. "Then I looked into a mirror, and maybe I understand now." 

He stopped talking altogether, and stared at a passing cloud, lazily stretching itself on the otherwise perfect blue sky. Tentatively, the blonde elf took his hand in his in a gesture of comfort. 

"That is not true" Orodreth said "You will never be like him."

A fleeting smile brushed past Celebrimbor's lips.

"Still won't tell me what he did to you?"

Orodreth's eyes turned vague, and his mouth drew into a thin line.

"No."

~ 

Author's note: O_o Talk about chapters who get lives of their own… I hope this answered everyone's questions. Many thanks to the Silmfics group for help and suggestions. 

Ingoldo is Finrod's mother-name. It means 'the wise', or something like that. 

Curufin's full name is Curufinwë Atarinke. Curufinwë is Fëanor's father-name, and Atarinke is Curufin's mother-name, meaning 'little-father' as in 'the one that resembles his father'. That is why Celebrimbor says his father is well-named. 


End file.
